


Awful, Horrible, Terrible

by Batesk7551



Series: Predicament [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 09:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8744980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batesk7551/pseuds/Batesk7551
Summary: AKA, how this night is going for Stiles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I was really surprised that people read my first work - 909 people, to be exact. And then 72 of you hit the kudos button, 2 people bookmarked, and SlasherFiend even left me a comment, which *high pitched squealing noise*. So thank you to everyone for making my day, and especially thanks to SlasherFiend - I hadn't planned on continuing until you said you hoped that I would ^.^

“Aha, ha,” Stiles tries. “How about we put the guns away for this conversation, Dad.”

 _Please,_ he thinks desperately.

Sheriff Stilinski complies, if only because he can sense his son’s growing anxiety, but he doesn’t move his eyes off of Peter. The gun now hangs by his side, with John’s finger still on the trigger, ready to whip up in an instant.

“Thank you,” Stiles breathes. Crisis temporarily averted.

“Oh, don’t thank me, Stiles,” his dad says. “I might still shoot him before the end of the night if you don’t explain to me what _the hell_ you were doing when I walked in.”

“Oh, um.” Stiles’ brow furrows as his hand starts tapping on his knee. “Do you really want me to explain? Because I don’t _want_ to explain, and I think it was pretty obvious what we were doing, like, there’s not much to say that you didn’t already _see_ -”

Peter rolls his eyes and stops Stiles’ nervous drumming by taking the boy’s hand in his. “Yes, Stiles and I have been together for over four months, and yes, we have been fucking.”

Stiles lets his face fall into his free hand, horrified. He quickly peeks back up again. “Why the _fuck_ would you - I promise, Dad, he’s making it sound a lot worse than it is.”

His dad ignores him. “You realize he’s seventeen, right?”

Peter smirks salaciously. “I’m very aware.”

“And you’re, what, thirty-five?”

“Thirty-seven.”

 _Stop,_ Stiles begs silently, trying to communicate his desperation through his eyes. _Peter, for the love of all that is holy. Stop. Talking._

“So remind me again why I shouldn’t shoot you right now?”

Stiles thinks he should be extremely worried about the shade of red on his dad’s face.

“Well, for one,” Peter explains, “Those bullets aren’t going to do you much good. Werewolf, remember?”

“No.” The sheriff takes in a deep, measured breath. “But it’ll hurt like a bitch until I call up Chris Argent and restock on something that will put you down. For good.”

His dad wouldn’t see it, but Stiles does, because he knows Peter by now, can see the _good luck with that_ that Peter is dying to say.

He doesn’t give Peter the opportunity. “Dad, I know you must be having a hard time dealing with this -”

“A hard time? Stiles, a hard time doesn’t cover it!”

“ _But_ ,” he continues, “I’m eighteen in less than a month and I’ve been in more life or death situations than even you have at this point, and to be honest I feel like if I can be trusted to make life or death decisions, then I should be allowed to decide who my boyfriend . . . thing is.”

“That’s not convincing, Stiles.”

“Boyfriend thing? Eloquent.” They say at the same time.

Stiles sighs. “Okay, well, then how about this: Dad, I really like Peter, because I’m probably stupid, and I’m definitely insane. You shouldn’t shoot him because I’d be upset - I’d like to remind you that my defense is insanity - and then I’d mope around for months and I’ll turn out like Derek, staring broodily out of windows all the time and you’d have to deal with it until Peter somehow manages to resurrect himself again and then I’ll have a twice-over zombie werewolf boyfriend who’s twenty years older than me, which is weirder that a just a regular zombie werewolf boyfriend who’s twenty years older than me.”

John looks at his son, caught between fatigue and disbelief. He finally decides to settle on fatigue and clicks the safety off. “You know what, Stiles, I’m just going to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” He turns around, walking toward his bedroom with weariness weighing at his shoulders.

Stiles watches his dad go, trying to quell the guilt he feels at making his dad so obviously upset.

“You know,” Peter says conversationally, “I think I like that.”

Miserable, Stiles asks, “Like what?”

“Knowing you’d miss me if I died.”

“Shut up. I said that to keep you from being shot in the kneecap.” Stiles scowls.

“Liar,” Peter grins, cupping Stiles‘ cheek with a warm palm. He brings their faces closer together so that their noses brush. It’s oddly sweet, Stiles thinks. “You’d cry if I died.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“You would.” Peter kisses Stiles deeply. “Don’t worry, Stiles. I’d go insane if you died, too.”

Stiles pokes Peter in the stomach. “That’s not even remotely funny.”

“Stiles,” calls his dad’s muffled voice. “Go to bed. Alone!”

Peter gets up, stretches. “I’ll be at your window later.”

Peter leaves before Stiles has the time to tell him what an awful, horrible, terrible thing that is to do on this night, of all nights.

 


End file.
